


please paint me blue

by stephenssupreme



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Before Sorcerery, Cunnilingus, FTM Stephen Strange, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex Work, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mlm, painter, strordo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:41:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephenssupreme/pseuds/stephenssupreme
Summary: AU| Karl Mordo is a street artist who recently moved to New York and Stephen Strange just suffered a traumatic car accident which made him spiral into a mess of a 'life'. Mordo sees a unique beauty in this man, however, and Strange is intrigued by the artist's talent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> honey, here we go, here's my first strordo fic and my first trans stephen fic all in one - we're moving in leaps and bounds right now
> 
> also this piece hasn't been proof-read or anything like that so all mistakes are my own and will be changed when noticed

Grey, bustling and full of traffic _constantly_. Every day in New York felt the same. The same type of tourists came along to watch him work for a while and then they would leave with with all the money they arrived with. Occasionally someone would ask for a piece to be specifically done but being a street artist meant he couldn’t really charge much for the paintings anyway - most of the time the paint he used cost more than what he sold the pieces for. Life was a mess. He should have just stayed in Romania and pursued his talents there; why did Karl Mordo stupidly think New York would give him any better opportunities? Artwork wasn’t the man’s only talent but it was the only one that gave him some money and money was important, even if you’re just sleeping on some damp mattress while your roommate does god knows what in the other bedroom. Each morning he woke up believing that day would be the day he finally made his break - maybe some art scout would find him on the street corner or a celebrity would unknowingly buy a piece from him and build up fame like that. It never happened, though. Of course it didn’t.

 

Karl wasn’t the only hopeless man wandering the streets of New York on a day-to-day basis, however - there were others just like him. The circumstances were different, sure, but they strived for the same thing - to be noticed.

 

After his horrific crash, Stephen Strange was left with permanent nerve damage in his hands - a fate he tried to rectify countless times, however much it cost. There was no use, though. Not a single one of the experimental treatments worked and in the end, he was left penniless. The man was no longer able to work as a surgeon and too god damn stubborn to do medical work that left him behind a desk all day. Unfortunately, the inevitable came along and Stephen grew desperate for money, doing anything he had to just to feed himself that day. Even his bills were overdue and a letter of notice was posted to his door - he had one week to find somewhere else to stay or they’d kick him out onto the streets. The little bit of money he got every other night wasn’t enough to afford the high end apartment, of course, so he was off in search of more affordable accommodation.

 

That’s when he saw him. The beautifully tall man who radiated… Sadness. Why was he so sad when he was gifted with such enviable features? The beard was questionable but it was evident that beneath that straggly hair lay a readily handsome face. It wasn’t often that Karl requested people to sit for him but he’d be foolish to pass such an opportunity down.

“Excuse me!”

No answer, he was too busy being troubled by his own thoughts.

“Excuse me, sir!”

Finally, Stephen glanced up from the sidewalk, catching a glimpse of a man waving for his attention. Fuck, was he about to get lectured on how _he_ could save money on his heating bill by installing quality installation for just a small fixed amount a month?

“Look, I’m kind of busy here, okay. Plus I don’t have any money for whatever you’re trying to sell me.” He was about to continue on with his day but what the man said next caught him just in time.

“I don’t want to sell you anything, Sir. I offer you an opportunity.”

Now that sounded interesting. Giving in with a sigh, the ex-surgeon wandered over, soon realising that this stranger was in fact an artist of sorts, his supplies all neatly put away in a toolbox which sat beside his stool. “What are you offering then?”

“I’ll be blunt with you; your face intrigues me, I want you to be my model for a sketch. If people see me drawing someone, they’re more likely to drop some money in the pot - of course, you’ll get a share of the money.” Holding out his hand, he then introduced himself, his words eloquently put but his accent definitely foreign, “Karl Mordo.”

Despite Karl offering to shake hands, Stephen refused that part of the deal - the last thing he needed to show as a potential model were the scars that riddles his trembling hands. Instead he just nodded.

“Stephen Strange.” He then took a seat opposite Karl, hands remarkably still stuffed into the pockets of his coat. “I’ll do it - I need the money anyway.”

 

It seemed like he was sat there for hours, Karl sketching away while he asked questions, trying to get to know the model that posed before him, in turn, Stephen threw some questions back. They may have been out on the street corner but to them, it was as if it was just the two of sat there in a secluded bubble - both very different yet unusually similar at the same time. Mordo came to learn about Stephen’s accident and Strange came to learn about the inherited title Karl chose to decline. At first he didn’t believe him; why would a man of such class move to another country and live like the lowest of the low? The more Karl explained, however, the more he began to understand. Free will. He was able to be who he wanted where he wanted - back in Romania he would have been tied to a single estate carrying out the same old duties. That was hardly a life if you didn’t choose it yourself.

 

Jealously, for Stephen, didn’t stem from Karl being a ‘Baron’ as one would have expected, instead he was more jealous of the man’s hands. Not just for aesthetic reasons, more so the way they moved and the talent they possessed - a talent very similar to what Stephen used to have but lacked now. Pen replaced pencil and then paintbrush replaced pen - he was a master of many mediums and just as the sun began to fall in the late afternoon hours, the piece was done.

 

“Would you like to see?” Karl was partly nervous about showing his new acquaintance his finished canvas since any time you do a portrait, you always run the risk of offending the subject.

“I’d rather find out how much money you have in that pot first.” Little did Karl know yet, but Stephen was a bitter man in the mind, especially in recent days. Not having money and then suddenly being promised it - it was all that intoxicated his brain.

“Stephen.” Suddenly, Mordo’s tone had grown sharp and demanding - he wasn’t going to take any shit off this man. “Payment comes after the deed as with any job.” He then proceeded to lift the canvas from the easel and spin it around for Stephen to view.

 

It was spectacular, for the lack of any better words. Near enough perfect.

 

“So? Do you like it?” Stephen had been speechless for almost a minute now and to be honest, Karl couldn’t help but slip into a state of worry again. His heart stopped racing once he witnessed Stephen smile for the very first time that day and god, was it a beautiful sight - even his eyes lit up, no longer heavy with the weight of sadness.

“You’re too good for these streets,” Stephen eventually mumbled, standing up from the stool he was sat on, hands rubbing down the front of his thighs to smooth off his pants. Payments suddenly didn’t matter to Stephen - the act of someone painting him in such an attractive light was payment enough. Turning on his heel he set off to leave when a hand grasped onto his shoulder, pulling him back a little.

“What about the money, Stephen? I’ll give you half.”

“No. Don’t worry about it - you deserve it.” Stephen tried his best to pull away again but Mordo’s grip was surprisingly strong and offered a rare warmness to Stephen, one that he hadn’t felt in months.

“At least tell me where you’re staying.” He had gathered that Stephen was living rough or near enough to it now. Stephen was honest with his answer, seeing that he had nothing left to lose.

“I don’t know.”

“Come home with me then.” That came out much more suggestive than Karl first planned but luckily he saved himself by adding; “if you won’t take the money you’re owed, at least accept a bed for the night.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they have to sleep on a crappy mattress doesn't mean they can't enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this chapter mentions the word clit so if you're not comfortable with that then it's suggested you don't read this chapter  
> they way i've written stephen doesn't represent all trans men either, this is just my portray of him as an individual (for reference, stephen has had top surgery but he underwent peri-areolar meaning there is little scarring)  
> as always this piece hasn't been proof-read or anything like that so all mistakes are my own and will be changed when noticed

A bed. Even a straightforward description like that was over exaggerating what they’d be sleeping on for the night. It was a thin double mattress covered by pleasant looking sheet - unfortunately as appealing as the sheet was supposed to make the bed look, it was hardly hiding the fact that it wasn’t a bed at all. Embarrassed by his own state of living, Karl busied himself with making the two of them some food, muttering to Stephen without really looking at him.

“Apologies, an artist’s wage isn’t exactly… Desirable.” Oh god, he really wished he had more to offer to Stephen - something better than this shithole of a life.

“Hey, it’s fine. At least you have lighting and heating, right?” Stephen was kind of digging at himself there - he had been without both for weeks since that’s what happens when you can’t afford to pay your bills. Karl agreed to that with a soft hum, not able to reply properly due to the sound of him punching holes into the plastic film which covered the ready-meal they’d be sharing. That’s what he missed most when he thought of home; the food. The food he had in Romania was rich, succulent and freshly prepared that day. Here in America he was forced to buy foul, greasy meals that were so packed with preservatives that he doubted that they’d  _ ever _ go out of date.

 

The meal was eaten in silence, both men stood up by the kitchen counter, pushing the bland food around with their forks until it eventually grew too cold to stomach. It wasn’t all that bad though, especially once Stephen dug into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a half empty bottle which he then set down on the side. 

“Is that…?”

“Brandy. You don’t mind, do you?” Karl shook his head at that, reaching up into one of the unhinged cupboards to get out two glasses, already answering Stephen’s next question before he even had the chance to ask it.

“ _ You don’t mind, do you? _ ” Karl threw back the same question mockingly, a glimpse of a smirk flickering across his lips. Stephen laughed at that, surprised to find the artist had a sense of humour - he had no idea why he assumed that he didn’t but that would be a question for another day.

 

They must have gotten onto their fourth glass of straight liquor by this point, their throats warm with the tingling burn of alcohol. Neither of them remember doing it but they had moved from the kitchen area down to the mattress, shoes kicked off and a few unnecessary layers shed in the process.

“I need to draw you without that big puffy coat next time,” mused the artist, unknowingly staring at Stephen’s laid back figure long enough to be noticed.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Stephen decided to question the man, curiosity lacing his deep tone.

“Are you sure it’s only the coat you wish to relieve me of?” 

In any other circumstance, Karl would have backtracked and hastily changed the subject but drunkenness had the upper hand tonight. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that idea…” Discarding his practically empty glass to the ground beside him, he offered his hand towards Stephen, offering to pull him up. This gave him a chance to see the true extent of scarring on the man’s hands, though in all honesty, Stephen’s hands weren’t top on Karl’s list of priorities right now. Sitting up properly, Stephen was about to say something but was cut off by Karl continuing; “why don’t you show me what I’d be working with?”

 

Stephen considered the request for a moment, his hand still in Karl’s grasp.Why the hell not? Shrugging, he put down his own drink so he could pull his t-shirt off, dropping it down onto his lap as he sat there. He was usually quite body confident but seeing as Karl was viewing him a potential subject, he suddenly felt under a lot of pressure to impress. What if he wasn’t as muscular as Karl had first anticipated? What is his nipples were too odd of a shape? What if the few moles that dotted his body were in the wrong places? What if—

 

His internal questioning was silenced when suddenly he slipped back into reality, a soft pair of lips pressed up against his own. Maybe he wasn’t just considered as a subject after all…

 

Karl didn’t know what made him do it but whether it was the brandy or his own judgement, he was planning to do much more than just kiss this man. Slipping his hands up to Stephen’s shoulders, he pulled himself closer to the man - he wasn’t too keen on the beard but he could definitely work with it. Drawing back for a breath, Karl stripped himself of his own shirt. A second barely passed before Stephen’s lips were trailing down his chest, tongue flickering against his nipple and his hand wandering down to the bottom of his back, trembling fingers just grazing the elastic waistline of his boxers. 

 

It was Stephen who stood up first - though he did almost fall over in the process since getting up from a mattress on the floor wasn’t too easy when you’re sober, let alone drunk. Gazing down at his artist companion, Stephen pointed his finger towards him as he slurred, 

“Remember, Mister Mordo - or should I say Baron - you think of me as a work of art - keep an open mind when it comes to art.” He then awkwardly fiddled with the button on his jeans for a few seconds, pain shooting through his hands due to the pressure he had to apply. 

 

Eventually though it popped open and the zip went down as he pulled the jeans down past his waist. He was wearing a pair of plain grey boxers underneath than clung to his body quite tightly and this was the point where most people ended up finding out that Stephen was trans. Either that or they assumed he had a micro-penis which, in it’s own right, was vaguely similar to his clit - that was besides the point though. Karl didn’t say a word, however, only standing up to join Stephen, biting down onto the man’s bottom lip before yanking down at the last remaining clothing Stephen wore; only then did he mutter something.

“And what a splendid work of art you are, Doctor Strange.”

 

Stephen could feel Karl’s hand traveling down his body, slipping between his thighs without any hesitation - he’d never had a man who accepted him for who he was so quickly and without question. From what he could gather, Karl wasn’t strictly gay either since his fingers knew exactly where to go and Stephen very much doubted the artist came across many trans guys just by chance. At first he bit down on his bottom lip as Karl rubbed his clit but it wasn’t long before Stephen was whimpering out, holding onto Karl’s biceps solely to keep himself from buckling to the ground. 

“Fuck,” Stephen breathed out, his whole body blushing hot with sensation, “your hands are so… Talented.” Of course they fucking were, Stephen, he’s an artist.

What Stephen didn’t expect was for Karl to reply with, “you should see what my mouth is capable of then.” 

 

Well, he could hardly refuse a tempting offer like that now, could he? His cunt was weeping and god, it ached once Karl removed his fingers. Scrambling back down to the mattress, Stephen spread his legs and begged for Mordo to join him, not with words, but with a beckoning sultry look. Meanwhile, Karl had just been stripping off the rest of his clothes when he glanced up from his pooled jeans to witness the beautiful sight before him.

 

Now with his head between Stephen’s thighs, Karl felt his lover’s hand nestle into his hair as best he could though his grip wasn’t the greatest due to the damage they had suffered. The act was appreciated, though and he was soon eating Stephen out, encouraged by the loud moans that came from the man. His tongue ran across Stephen’s slick folds, his own mouth numbed by the brandy but not so much that he couldn’t taste him. He then began to suck on Stephen’s large, hard clit, STephen’s head being thrown back as he gasped out his lover’s name.

 

“Fuck me,” pleaded Stephen, not only for his own benefit but Karl’s too - the artist would have been a fool to think Stephen didn’t notice how hard he was when he joined him on the bed. Getting up onto his knees, Karl leant over to rummage through a bag that was bundled down just beside Stephen’s head. 

“Has anyone ever told you how loud you are in bed?” Karl questioned, though he wasn’t annoyed, he was practically grinning from ear to ear. He may have not been a very vocal man himself but he admired STephen for being the opposite of himself.

“A few have. Some even like to gag me.” He said it so matter of factly that Karl was brought to a blushing silence, the only sound being him ripping open a packet and rolling a condom onto his length. 

“I’d rather hear you, Stephen… We can’t both be quiet now, can we?” For some reason that made Stephen laugh, Karl not really knowing why but going along with it anyway - it was better than the depressed and disheveled Stephen he met earlier that day.

 

Karl was soon fucking Stephen into the mattress, a tight grip under one of Stephen’s thighs, holding his leg up slightly.

“You need to get a better fucking bed,” Stephen complained, sure that he just felt a spring dig into his shoulder blade. 

“Stay here longer than one night and I might just do that.”

“Is that an invitation to move in?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you shave that beard off in the next week.” Karl didn’t get an answer from the man after that, just a small glare. Well, it was worth a shot.

 

With the conversation over, Karl grew more rough with his thrusts, Stephen bucking his hips up at the same time until Karl came, moaning out for the one and only time that night. Once the condom was discarded and they both finally got their breath back, Karl collapsed beside Stephen, his hand mindlessly resting on Stephen’s thigh as if they had been an item for months.

“Don’t bother putting any clothes on in the morning,” he told the man beside him.

“Why? Do you plan on fucking me then too?”

“No.”

The american looked at him blankly.

“I plan on painting you.”


End file.
